


Ghosts and Greed

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anonymous Sex, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Jon, Theon, and a dark, silent corridor.





	Ghosts and Greed

**Author's Note:**

> Kink generator provided: anonymous sex + finger fucking.

You'd think, having been raised at Winterfell since he was a babe, Jon would have run out of ways to get lost, but apparently not. It all Bran's fault; he lost his toy into the dark, cobweb-ridden corridors near the castle cellar, and it's not like he was _afraid_ to go there or anything, but still, would Jon mind doing it instead? And Jon's always been weak to his little siblings. It's not like _he's_ scared of the dark. Honest.

He might not be scared of the dark, but that doesn't make it any easier to find his way. He really cannot see a bloody thing, and has to keep trailing his hands along the cold stone wall to know when he has to turn. He has no idea how he's meant to find what he's actually looking for. Hopefully, he'll just stumble into it.

Well, he doesn't stumble into a toy, but he stumbles into _something._ Someone, rather. His body collides into another and instinctively, he raises his arms to fight, because what would someone be doing lurking about shadowy corridors like this if not for nefarious purposes?

However, then he hears a deep, relieved sigh, as the other man's body relaxes against his own. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Jon recognises that voice.

_Theon_?

Jon is just about to pull away and ask what in the world Theon is doing here... but Theon doesn't let him. He has no interest in getting away; instead, he grabs ahold of Jon's tunic and pulls him closer, burrowing his face in Jon's neck. Jon finds himself pushed, with remarkable strength, up against the wall, and before he knows it a pair of rough hands are on his breeches, tearing at the laces with haste.

His mind races. _What are you doing?_ He tries to ask, but as soon as he opens his mouth it devolves into a silent moan at the feel of Theon's lips sucking the skin of his neck. _Fuck_. Jon's body, already alarmed by the dark and the bump, wastes no time transforming that into arousal, which only alarms him further. For gods' sake, this is _Theon_ , the prick who has never wasted a chance to put Jon in his place and remind him of his status ever since coming here. Jon's never had _anyone_ touch him like this before – is he really going to let Theon do it? Why is he doing it? It's so dark, does Theon even know who it is he's touching? Does he _care_?

Theon's hand rubs hard at the front of Jon's breeches, rapidly tenting forwards, and despite how many times Theon's made fun of his girlish features, Jon knows perfectly well Theon can't have mistaken him for an actual woman. Theon having trysts with maids in dark corridors would surprise Jon less than anything else in the seven kingdoms, but this... why is he skulking about in the dark anyway?

Is...

Is that why?

Jon can't think straight. Theon bites his collarbone and he gasps, just as his breeches fall open at Theon turns to trying to deal with his own. “Come on,” he whispers, and he interrupts his struggle to grab Jon's hands and place them on his waist. “Fuck, quickly, fuck.”

Jon can't think straight. If he could, he might consider the unresolved question of Theon possibly sharing his bed – or hallway – with men. The question of _him_ doing so. The fact Theon still probably has no idea who he is. The possibility that, as dark and remote as this part of the castle is, someone could still catch them.

Jon doesn't think any of that. He just groans, digs his fingers in, and turns his head – if they're going to do this, they might as well kiss first.

Theon seems a little surprised by Jon leaning in, but he accepts it readily, eagerly. Theon's tongue is talented, there's no denying that – Jon sighs in his mouth like a maid, and feels a little embarrassed. Theon has so much experience kissing women – and mayhaps men – and Jon, none at all. It's not as overwhelming as he would expect though. Theon seems only too happy for Jon to push his tongue forth, pull him closer, maybe even take control.

His hands don't let up while Jon is kissing him, until he can thrust his groin upon Jon's own, rubbing against him in a feverish heat. Jon hisses at the sparks running up his spine, and then Theon's hand reaches inside Jon's breeches, takes a greedy hold of his cock. Jon hears a moan, and is surprised to realise it isn't his own. “Oh fuck,” Theon whispers against his lips. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Jon can't help but agree. He moans, and bites his lip to keep the sound down – he feels a wave of guilt when he realises he's trying to keep Theon from recognising his voice. But he reasons, Theon seems more than eager to do this with, well, whoever – does it really matter that it's Jon on the other side? Theon's hand, rubbing at fast pace, doesn't seem to mind. His movements are smooth and steady. Experienced.

Perhaps to alleviate his guilt, Jon reaches to pull Theon closer, his cock pushing against Jon's thigh. It feels hot and hard and Jon groans, burying his face in Theon's neck. His own hand, unsteady and shaking, reaches for it, delves into Theon's breeches and finds his length wet to the touch and – _fuck_.

“ _Oh_ ,” Theon gasps, bucking wildly into Jon's hand. It takes Jon a few seconds to find the same sort of pace Theon can, he still feels clumsy, but Theon urges him on all the while. “That's it, that's it, like that, fuck.” For someone sneaking about in the dark for fear of being recognised, he's done nothing whatsoever to hide his voice. Then again, it never was like Theon to think this sort of thing through.

Jon smothers a chuckle at that thought, and then suddenly, he wants to kiss again. The connection between the two things is hazy and maybe a little concerning, but he does his best to put it out of mind, tilting his head up instead.

For a second, he almost thinks he sees Theon's eyes glint in the dark, sees a flicker of recognition. But then their mouths crash together once more, and anything so dangerous is gone.

With his spare hand, Theon grabs Jon's dark curls. If that gives him pause, it doesn't show. They simply keep stroking each other and moaning into each other's mouths, and Jon can feel his climax creeping up on him far too quickly, long before he's had time to consider what it is they're doing here or how unlike him it is or everything he might do if Theon gave him the chance–

“ _Gods_!”

Theon's hand suddenly comes to a dead stop, and Jon whines in dismay. What, what just happened? Did he just finish, and is about to walk out now he's got his, leaving Jon on his own? That sounds like him. And yet, from how hard he is in Jon's palm, it doesn't feel like it. For a couple of seconds, the only sound in the hall is their panting breaths, and Jon feels a tremor run through Theon's body. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding more abashed than Jon's ever heard him.”Sorry. I just...” Slowly, he guides Jon's hand out of his breeches. Jon feels a wave of disappointment. Has he changed his mind?

Then, Theon takes him by surprise.

Without a word, he guides Jon's hand up and to his mouth, takes two fingers in and _sucks_.

It's too dark to see, but Jon's eyes still go wide.

If the taste of his own fluids on Jon's hand bothers Theon, it doesn't show. If anything, it seems to spur him on further, making him groan as he starts to bob his head up and down, Jon's fingers turning alternately hot and cold as Theon coats them with spit. It takes Jon awhile to realise what Theon is playing at. What he might be trying to do. Then, he slides Jon's fingers out of his mouth with a pop, and guides Jon's hands behind him.

In the dark, Jon's eyes go wide once more. Theon tugs his own breeches down further, clasping Jon's hands to his arse. "Please," he whispers.

Jon does get the hint eventually. Hesitating, he delves his hands into Theon's small clothes, gently sliding one finger down the cleft of his arse. Theon moans and thrusts forward toward him, their cocks colliding against each other and making Jon gasp in shock and pleasure. He pushes the tip of his finger against the tiny little hole he finds, and Theon trembles, burying his face in Jon's neck again. Is this – is this really what he wants? Somehow that seems yet another level to his whole experience. It is one thing, after all, to fool around wanking other boys off, but to let another man push inside you, stretch you open, like a woman...

No wonder Theon feels the need to hide.

Theon's knees are trembling as Jon teases his hole with one finger, trying to wetten him, and he doesn't think the other man will stay upright long enough if they try doing it this way. Without thinking, Jon grabs Theon's arse and spins them around, and Theon moans as his back collides against the wall. If they could see each other, he might well be staring in shock.

It's trickier at this angle. Jon has to pull Theon's breeches and underthings down properly, to his knees, to give himself access. The spittle on his fingers is drying quickly. He pushes them back up to Theon's lips, and he sucks them obligingly. Once they're wet enough, Jon pulls them back, and as if in gratitude he kisses Theon once more.

He reaches behind Theon's cock, just barely brushing it, searching for the entrance he found before. Theon groans, thrusting toward him once more, pushing his hardness against Jon's still-clothed prick. Jon lets him. He has something else to focus on, clumsily rubbing Theon's hole again, earning moans and whimpers as Theon rocks back into him. He likes this. There are no smart remarks slipping from Theon's tongue right now, just the noises of need and pleasure, and if this is what Theon has had any man who's come here before him do then... well. Jon's not sure what, really. But he is terribly tempted to come back.

It's a struggle to fit his finger inside – Theon still feels tight, despite Jon's fingers being wet. Jon thinks of turning him around and fucking him, he can't help it, but he doesn't think it'd be possible. His cock pulses and he moves closer, letting his groin collide with Theon's, his hand going numb from the pressure of their bodies.

Theon cries out when Jon finally breaches him, cursing as he thrusts back onto the one finger, trying to get more. His arm wraps around Jon's shoulders and Jon, with his free hand, takes both their cocks into his palm, wanking them of quick and clumsy as he searches Theon's insides with his finger, tight and hot around him, and it would be wonderful to push his cock in there but he knows, even if he could, Theon would not last long enough. Theon has his head tilted back against the stone wall and keeps trying to spread his legs wider, as wide as he can without falling. It makes Jon wonder what it would be like to fuck him on a bed, where he could shove his legs open as wide as he pleased, and let him scream as loud as he liked.

Liquid falls from both their cocks onto Jon's hand, and it makes him desperate, reckless, His cock aches with need as he fucks Theon on his finger, and then he adds the second, making Theon cry out – then bite his lip to silence himself. As Jon fucks him hard on his fingers, Theon can't help moaning, writhing, arching against him – and Jon can't either. He likes Theon like this. He likes the though that he's made Theon act like this.

“Is this what you want, Greyjoy?” he whispers, losing control of himself. “Is this what you like, other men stretching your arse out? Is this what you have to hide in dark corridors to get? What else would you let me do to you if you could, huh?”

Theon's body, trembling on the edge of ecstasy, seems to take pause. Somehow in the dark, Jon can feel him turn his head and stare. “Snow?”

_Fuck_.

Jon knows he's been found out, but doesn't know what to do about it. In a panic, he shoves his two fingers in as deep as he can, rubs back and forth against the spot that makes Theon's breathe hitch – and it works; all of a sudden Theon gives a muffled shout, and he spends all over Jon's fist, his arse tightening so hard Jon's afraid it might snap his fingers. It's too much. The feel of Theon's hot come against his skin pushes him over the edge. He groans, and he spills as well, making a mess of them both. His mind goes white.

As they recover, for a long moment Jon lets himself lean against Theon's shoulder, trying to get his breath back. Theon doesn't shove him away, which might be a good sign. Slowly, Jon realises his fingers are still trapped in Theon's hole, and he ought to remove them. When he does, they feel cold and cramped.

Jon stands up straight, readying himself for whatever abuse Theon is ready to throw at him – that he didn't mean to do this with Snow, with the bastard; he would have offered himself to whatever serving man might happen to stumble in here, but not _him._ Jon knows he can take it – he's heard worse before.

But Theon doesn't say any of that. Instead, Jon just hears a loud gulp. “This never happened, Snow.”

Jon tries to look him in the eye, but it's still too dark for that. Quickly he's pushed away from Theon's body, as Theon hurriedly redresses himself. When he storms off, his footsteps are obscenely loud.

When he's gone, Jon can only turn back around with a sigh, leaning against the wall and collapsing into a crouch. He does not bother lacing his breeches, not yet. His skin is still wet with Theon's come and still somehow, it feels almost like it didn't happen, like he just lay with a ghost. He has to wonder upon what it is they just did, the dirty things Theon must feel so ashamed of, and he might do too, the question of how they will ever look one another in the eye above ground. In hindsight, that might be why Theon comes somewhere so dark for it. If he never has to see the men he fucks, he never has to imagine what they might think of him. And Jon just ruined that for him. He winces with guilt.

He sighs again, lets his head fall back against the wall. The smell of Theon is everywhere. It makes him want more, makes him want to come back, and he knows he shouldn't – he ought to pull himself from the temptation, before he makes even more of a mess of himself.

It's greedy, but he sinks into the smell, drinking in what he can. But before long, he'll have to go find Bran's toy, and return to the light. He knows that.

There are some things that can only be done in the dark.

 


End file.
